


Four Killjoys and a Baby

by forgoo



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Minor Violence, Parenthood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2016-05-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 20:26:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3823726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgoo/pseuds/forgoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We are not keeping a baby!"<br/>"How hard can it be?"<br/>The story of how four teenage outlaws became the guardians of a tiny helpless baby and then raised that baby to be the tiniest Killjoy, messiah of the Zones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No Rest for the Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Death leaves the Killjoys with a decision to make. No one gets any sleep. Kobra proceeds to be reckless.

Way out in the desolate deserts of Zone 6, in a nameless diner, four teenagers stand around a cardboard box. The box and its content had been dropped off that morning by none other than the infamous Dr. Death Defying and his associate, Show Pony. With only a short explanation and a prompt exit, the Killjoys were left to stand and stare.

Fun Ghoul is the first to speak up. “Can we keep it?” He asks, a grin stretching across his face.

No one’s surprised when Jet Star quickly counters with, “We are not keeping a baby.”

Ghoul turns to Party just as quick, lips pouted. Party can only sigh. “Jet’s right. We’re in no position to be trying to raise a baby.”

“Why not?” Ghoul scoops up the sleeping infant into his arms. “How can you say ‘no’ to a face like this?” Fun Ghoul’s eyes are so wide, Party is wondering how they haven’t popped out of his skull yet.

“Easy.” Jet intervenes, taking the baby from Ghoul and gingerly setting it back down into its make-shift cradle. “We give the kid back to Dr. D. Tell him to find someone else to raise it. End of story.” His word is meant to be final, but Ghoul isn’t having any of it today.

“Is this because I accidentally set you on fire the other day? Because we already agreed it was only half my fault. Besides, I already said I was sorry!” Ghoul snaps.

Jet rolls his eyes at the mention of the incident in which Ghoul did in fact set him on fire and then laughed as he tried to extinguish himself. He doesn’t reply but Party does on his behalf. “Ghoul, we can’t take care of a baby. We can barely take care of ourselves as it is.” Party’s words are half-hearted and Ghoul can tell.

“How hard can it be?” Ghoul speculates, “Children are basically puppies! Right? You feed ‘em, potty train ‘em, teach ‘em to do cool tricks. It’ll be fun!” His enthusiasm is contagious and there’s a hint of a smile on Party’s lips.

Jet can see Party starting to crack, and in a last ditch attempt to stop this idea from coming to fruition, he sets the wild card into play. “Kobra, what do you think?”

Ghoul and Party are pulled out of their sphere, and focus on the Kid. Kobra is unreadable. His intense gaze is fixed on the sleeping infant. “Kobra?” Jet asks again, wondering if Kobra even heard him the first time. It takes a moment, but finally Kobra delivers the verdict.

“We have to keep her.” He says, much to Ghoul’s satisfaction and Jet’s bafflement.

“Are you serious?” Jet can’t believe what he’s hearing.

“I know we’re in no position to raise a kid. We’re in the middle of the desert and constantly on the run from Exterminators, but we’re the only ones that can protect her. Dr. Death wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of smuggling this baby out of Bat City and handing her over to us if he didn’t think it was the best decision.” Kobra turns his head to face his fellow Killjoys. “She’s special, just like her mom. We may have lost the Helium Wars, but if anyone’s going to be able to turn things around, it’s going to be this kid. She’s the future. And you know it.”

Jet’s face softens at the mention of the baby’s mother. He knows Kobra’s right. There’s something special about this infant that none of them can place their fingers on.  

In the meantime, Ghoul erupts into a celebratory holler out of habit but regrets it the minute the baby begins to cry. “No don’t cry tiny!” He picks the baby back up and starts bouncing her up and down. He’s apologizing a mile a minute for being too loud but the baby just continues cries.

 Jet Star wonders aloud, “Where are we supposed to get baby formula in the Zones?”

Party smiles as he watches his brother trying to distract the baby with a Mouse Kat plushy while Ghoul frantically pleads with the crying infant. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.” He remarks.

Jet Star can only chuckle to himself. “Yea, yea we do.” He knows they’re a bunch of punks, with no experience in child care, but somehow they’ll make do. They took care of each other before the war, and even after the bombs started raining from the sky, they all managed to make it out alive. They can take care of this tiny little life. As far as any of the Killjoys were concerned, this baby was now a part of their family.

“We have to give her a name.” Jet says after an arduous group effort to placate the crying infant.

Everyone takes a moment to think about it before throwing their ideas into the air. Most are shot down for either being too plain or too crazy.

“How about Grace?” Party suggests.

“Amazing Grace,” Jet says.

“How sweet the sound,” Kobra adds.

“Grace. Graaaaaaaace. GRACE.” Ghoul is grinning wildly again. “I like it!” He turns to the newly christened child, asleep in her cardboard cradle, and whispers. “Hello Grace. Welcome to the family.”

 

The first few nights are the hardest for the Killjoys. Grace wakes up every two hours crying, needing to be fed, changed, or just comforted.

“How do babies cry this much without fucking up their vocal chords?” Jet Star asks to no one in particular over shrill cries as he rocks Grace back and forth in his arms.

Ghoul is passed out in his cot in the back room after having dealt with changing Grace and putting her back to sleep by himself the last time she woke up. Kobra sits over in a booth, head resting on the table, more dead than alive, hands slapped over his ears. “Where’s Party with the bottle?” The Kid groans. When his brother doesn’t magically appear he mumbles out, “How’d you even get all that baby shit anyways?” As far as he’s concerned all the supplies they now had piled in a corner in the diner had miraculously appeared out of thin air while he was on baby duty the day after Grace’s arrival.

“Abandoned convenience store was stocked with baby stuff. As you can imagine, not a lot of newborns in the Zones.” Jet Star had taken the Trans Am out with Party in search of the supplies they would need for the newly christened Grace. They were more than grateful when they happened to stumble upon a store that was still mostly intact. They grabbed anything they thought might be important and got the hell out. On the ride back to the diner, the Trans Am’s back seat, which was normally occupied by Killjoys, was packed with diapers, blankets, clothes, formula, a car seat, and even a box piled with toys and a build-it-yourself cradle.

“Bottle.” Party announces as he enters.

“Make it stop.” Kobra begs. Jet Star carefully hands off the still crying Grace to Party and slips into the booth next to Kobra. The moment Party presses the bottle to Grace’s mouth, the entire diner falls silent.

“Oh beautiful, glorious silence.” Kobra cries.

“You were just hungry, weren’t you Gracie?” Party smiles at his compatriots who look just as sleep deprived as he is. None of them have gotten a decent night’s sleep since Grace’s arrival. Although they all know this is a sacrifice they have to make, it’s driving some of them crazier than others.  

When Grace finally finishes her bottle, she quickly dozes off to the sound of Party Poison humming out the tune of some pre-war rock song. After he sets her back down in her crib, which is set up in the middle of the Killjoy’s shared room, he returns to the front of the diner. He isn’t surprised to find Jet Star, with his head rolled back on the cushioned booth, softly snoring, and Kobra Kid using Jet’s shoulder as a pillow.   

 

Somehow they all make it through the first couple of nights mostly intact. The only casualty they incurred was a ruined shirt. “Death by baby barf.” Kobra had lamented over his leopard patterned shirt.

“Coffee. We’re going to need to stock up on coffee.” Party Poison states, bags hanging low under his eyes as he takes a seat at the counter.

“I don’t think all the coffee in the Zones is going to be enough.” Jet Star places a cup of the aforementioned beverage in front of the red haired teen. Party nods his thanks before inhaling the liquid contents of the cup. As soon as the caffeine kicks into his system, Party finally realizes that Fun Ghoul is in the room with them, although he’s abnormally quiet. Party pours himself another cup of coffee and meanders over to where Ghoul has secluded himself.

Pieces of colorful plastic and cloth surround the shorter Killjoy. A box lies discarded in a corner, but Party can’t be assed to read it for himself. “What is all this?” He asks instead.

Fun Ghoul looks up from what appears to be an instruction pamphlet. “It’s a baby bouncer for Motorbaby.” That’s when Party notices that Grace is strapped to Ghouls chest in a hammock of sorts, sucking on a pacifier and plush unicorn in hand. Ghoul is dressed in a shirt that’s nearly gone to tatters, fresh spit up residue stains the shoulder. An empty can of food sits beside him along with a half cup of coffee.

Party crouches down next to Ghoul. “Two questions: how long have you been trying to put this together and..uh..‘Motorbaby’?”

“I’m not sure how long, but I’m starting to think these directions were not written in English.” Ghoul says, eyes blood shot.

Party swipes the directions and it only takes him a second to say, “That’s because you’re looking at the Japanese version of the instructions.” He flips the instructions over and hands them back to Ghoul.

“Well would you look at that.” Ghoul murmurs in what can only be discerned as awe.    

“So how long have you been at this exactly?” Party asks again as Ghoul begins piecing together the plastic.

“A few hours I think. Long enough to figure out how to get this baby hammock to work and put together the high chair.” Ghoul says, genuinely unaware of the passing of time.

Party frowns at the mention of a high chair because _what high chair_? He looks around the diner only to see that at the counter stands a fully functional lime green high chair. He’s not sure how he missed it when he walked in, and chalks it up to caffeine deficiency. This quickly brings Party Poison to his next question, “So, Motorbaby?” Poison can hear Jet Star giggling from across the diner but he ignores him. “Who’s Motorbaby?”

“Grace is Motorbaby.” Ghoul says as if this is an obvious fact. Jet Star is full on laughing at this point. Poison continues to ignore him.

“Right, but why?”

“Why not? We all have special names. Grace needs one too. Motorbaby. Baby with a motor for lungs.” Ghoul explains. Poison can’t help but laugh now, and he’s not sure if it’s because he genuinely finds Ghoul’s explanation funny or if it’s because of sleep deprivation, but either way, the nickname made sense now.

Once he’s able to breathe properly again, Poison takes Grace and forces Ghoul into the backroom to sleep. “Come on, let’s go see what Kobra Kid is up to.” He says as he adjusts the sling. It then occurs to him that he hasn’t actually seen his brother since he’s been awake. “Where is the Kid anyway? I haven’t seen him.”

Jet Star looks up from the instruction pamphlet that Ghoul had set down on the counter for the baby bouncer. “Kobra? He took off this morning. Said something about having an idea.” He says as he gesticulates to the air, hoping to convey just how much he doesn’t know, before shrugging and simply saying, “I really have no idea.”

It is an unspoken rule that none of them head into the Zones unarmed or alone, and Party is about to get into it with Jet Star about not going with Kobra, when the Trans Am pulls into the diner parking lot. Kobra Kid walks into the diner, a mysterious bag in hand and a grin on his face.

“Are you fucking insane,” Is the first thing Party can think to say. 

Kobra is still smiling though. He quickly admits to the fact that, yes, he was reckless, and should have brought someone with him, but is even faster to add, “But I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“This better be one hell of surprise.” Party murmurs into his coffee, taking a seat in their usual booth.

Kobra just rolls his eyes, smirks, and says, “Nice baby hammock.”

A voice yells from the backroom, “Your fuckin’ right it is!” Ghoul emerges from the depths of the diner, and slips into the booth next to Party. “The nicest damn baby hammock in the Zones.” He whispers. Why he’s whispering is anyone’s guess, but to say it was probably the sleep deprivation getting to him wouldn’t be wrong.  

“I thought I told you to nap.” Party reprimands.

Ghoul smiles sleepily, perching his head between his hands, elbows planted firmly on the table. “Yea, but someone said ‘surprise’ and you know me. I love a good surprise. Now what’s in the bag?!” He all but shouts. “Jet get over here. It’s surprise time!” This time he really does shout.

As they wait for Jet Star to join them, Ghoul picks Grace out of the sling and sits her on his knee, and gently bounces her up and down, eliciting giggles from the baby. “Surprise, surprise, surprise!” He chants in time with the bouncing. Party watches on fondly, enjoying Grace’s giggles and how effortless it is for Ghoul to make her smile.   

Once Jet Star slips into the booth, Kobra, standing at the head of the table, begins. “I was thinking that since we’ve got Grace with us now, maybe we should find a way to document things. So that she can have something to remember us by, should any of us…you know…before her she’s old enough to remember stuff.” Everyone shifts in their seats, uncomfortable with their own mortality. Grace gurgles, totally unaware of the heavy atmosphere that’s settled around her. “Which is why I got this.” He pulls out the bag he brought in with him and hands it to Party Poison, taking a seat in the booth next to Jet Star.

Party sticks his hand into the bag and pulls out the mystery artifact: a Polaroid camera. “Fuckin’ A, Kobra! How’d you get your hands on this?” Jet Star stares wide-eyed at the dated, however rare, technology and then back at the Kid. “I didn’t think anyone in the Zones could get their hands on stuff like this. I thought BL/I confiscated this sort of tech ages ago?”

“They did.” Is all Kobra has to say on the issue. He doesn’t want to go into detail about the shady dealings he went through to get his hands on the technology. Instead he shifts their focus to breaking in their brand not-so-new camera.

“Ghoul, Party, smoosh together. Gracie look over here. Look at Jet Star and Kobra! There you go. Good girl. Say Mouse Kat!” The flash goes off and the camera spits out the newly developed picture.

“I am one good looking Ghoul.” Ghoul says as he inspects the photo. “See that Motorbaby? Your Uncle Ghoul is secretly a model.” He jokes.

“Where are we going to keep these?” Party asks, taking the photo from Ghoul. “It’s not like we have a scrapbook to stick them in.”

Jet Star is the one to come up with the idea of a shoe box. All the Killjoys kept what few items they possessed, most of which was pre-war memorabilia, in shoe boxes. It was only fitting that Grace have her own box now.

Over the years, the box would become filled with photos and tiny trinkets, collected by the Killjoys in hopes that when they were long gone, Grace would have something to remember them by. But, for the time being, her box had “Motorbaby” scrawled across the front in magic marker and the single photo, titled “Fun Ghoul, Party Poison, and Motorbaby’s First Photo 2013”, inside.             

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Tell me what you think.


	2. Famous Last Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To run the Zones or not to run the Zones. That is the question.   
> Also, Kobra's got a bad feeling.

 It’s an early morning for the Killjoys. Grace has finally adopted a semi- normal sleep schedule. Unfortunately, the Killjoys have not been quick on the uptake of their own normal sleep schedule. Three months of taking shifts at the odd hours of the night to attend to Motorbaby had left its impression on their circadian rhythm. It’s the only reason they can all be awake at six in the morning and not feel completely dead.

They stand in a makeshift circle. Jet Star sits on a bar stool with a lively Grace in his lap. Fun Ghoul is stretched out in their normal booth. Party sits across from Ghoul, coffee in hand. Kobra leans up against the far wall, a ways off from the others, but not so far as to be left out. An outsider might think that from the way they’re all positioned that they’re slack and enjoying an early breakfast. In reality, the room is tense. A decision has to be made. But, Grace is just a baby and couldn’t care less about tension or decisions.

In fact, Jet Star is in the middle of being a voice of reason when tiny hands take a hold of his hair and tug. “Gracie, no. Ow. Let go.” He tries to pry her hands free from his curls, but with one hand preoccupied with holding the hair-pulling perpetrator, he is powerless to stop her. “Do you think this is funny small child?” Grace smiles, pulling again. “Oh, you do!” She giggles. “This means war!” He bellows dramatically, placing the adopted Killjoy on the diner counter. “Here comes the tickle monster!” Jet Star unleashes the wrath of his ten fingers upon Grace’s sides, sending the 3 month-old into a fit of squeals, her hands unraveling from his hair in the process. Hair free, Jet star picks up the tickled-out tyke and resumes his train of thought. “We are not taking her with us on a run.”

“Really? The man that just claimed to be the tickle monster is going to tell us what to do?” Ghoul asks, his voice a joking sort of disbelief. Jet Star just rolls his eyes, turning his attention to the remaining Killjoys, waiting on their response.

Kobra and Party exchange a look. Party scratches at the stubble of his jaw. Kobra crosses his arms across his chest. Both stall for time. “Well, we don’t really have much of a choice.” Party finally says.

“Yes we do!” Jet Star would pinch the bridge of his nose if only Grace weren’t already grabbing it for him. “We can’t bring a baby on a supply run. What if Dracs get the jump on us? Do we leave her in the car? What if we all, oh you know, DIE? We all know we can’t let BL/I get their hands on her.”

A collective sigh escapes the room. No one likes making these sorts of decisions, because it’s a no-win situation. Killjoys aren’t fond of no-win situations and avoid them like the plague. Everyone knows that Jet Star is right, and Party isn’t afraid to admit that, “You’re right. Bringing her with us is definitely a risk. But, we’re kind of out of babysitters if all of us go.” Party speculates. “Dr. D and Agent Cherri Cola have been laying low since Exterminators set up increased patrols nearby the station. Trying to get in touch with them isn’t exactly an option.”

The great debate of whether or not Grace is zone-running ready drags on for a while longer. Kobra, quiet as he may be at times, isn’t exactly the patient type. “What if we bring her, but one of us stays in the car with her. If worse comes to worst, whoever’s with her can have a clean get away. It’s not like we need all four of us to move the supplies into the car.” His words come out like spitfire, and it takes a moment for the others to wrap their heads around the compromise.

 “This is going to be a disaster.” Jet murmurs, handing Grace over to Kobra, and goes to find a bag to put diapers and baby wipes into.

Ghoul smiles foolishly and volunteers, “I’ll get the baby hammock!”

Party just smiles at his brother and gives him a nod of approval, before going outside to install the car seat.

 

“Jet, could you at least pretend that you like this plan for two seconds and smile?” Ghoul verbally prods, hands gripping the camera. When Jet Star continues to refuse to smile, Ghoul turns his attention to Kobra Kid, who has Grace sitting in his arms. “Hey Kobra, do the thing!”

Kobra beams in delight at what’s being asked of him. He lifts Grace up until she’s level with his head and faces them both toward Jet Star. “Uncle Jet Star, why won’t you smile?” Kobra’s voice is high pitched and akin to a little old lady. “I am a tiny baby who wants you to smiiiile.”

Everyone knows that Jet Star can’t help but laugh when Kobra uses his squeaky voice. It doesn’t help that Grace has a tendency to make a very confused face in response to the voice. “That’s not even cute.” He says and in response Kobra cuts loose the squeakiest banshee wail to ever be wailed. It’s enough to crack a reluctant smile on Jet Star’s face. Ghoul snaps the picture. Although Party is the only one looking at the camera, it doesn’t matter. The picture is priceless.

Picture taken, the mirth evaporates and everyone piles into the Trans Am. Ghoul and Jet Star manage to figure out the car seat apparatus and buckle Grace in. As they barrel down the high way Ghoul snaps another photo and hastily writes “Motorbaby’s First Ride in the Trans Am 2013”. He tucks the photo into his jacket as they pull to a stop in front of a row of abandoned warehouses.

There’s nothing but desert for miles. The stretch of warehouse houses stand as a solitary structure **.** The sun beats down on the ancient structure. Fences encompass the compound, with rusted warning signs that hang loosely against them. If there were ever an object that fit the descriptor, “ominous”, this would be it. It’s worrisome enough to warrant another discussion amongst the Killjoys. “Are you sure that we’ve got the right address?” Jet Star asks.

“This is the place.” Party says after checking the address and hand-drawn map that Dr. Death had sent him. “Dr. D said that this place used to be an old BL/i manufacturer.”

Ghoul stares at the warehouses. “I don’t know about this. I mean, I know we need the supplies but… it could be a spooky death trap.”

Kobra turns in his seat. “Did you say that because you wanted to voice your concern or because you wanted to say ‘spooky death trap’?”

Ghoul shrugs saying, “It was sort of a half and half thing, but I'm not wrong.”

A moment passes by as everyone tries to wrap their heads around the situation. Jet Star shifts uncomfortably in his seat, scratching at his head before saying, “The decision is up to you Poison.” Ghoul and Kobra nod quietly in agreement. No one ever says it, but Party is their leader. They trust his judgement.

Party watches Grace gnaw on a frayed end of a toy. The gentle thrum of the engine comes to a stop as Party tugs the keys out of the ignition and tosses them to Kobra. “Stay here with Motorbaby. Jet and Ghoul will help me move the supplies.” His words are solemn and final. Jet and Ghoul pull on their masks and exit the car, guns in hand. Party follows suit, but turns back to Kobra, “You know what to do if Dracs catch wind.” He quickly adds, “Stop worrying!”

Kobra rolls his eyes. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” He mumbles out.

Party takes this as his cue to smirk and say, “You have a bad feelings about _beans_. What could possibly go wrong?” He shuts the driver-side door before Kobra can tell him about the evils of beans. Pulling on his masks, he joins Jet and Ghoul.

Kobra leans into the back seat and unbuckles a docile Grace, gathering her up into his arms. “Say ‘bye-bye’, Grace.” He holds her up to look out the windshield. Taking one of her fists, he helps her wave to the retreating forms of their family. When they disappear into the jaws of the looming steel edifices, Kobra can only let out an anxiety ridden sigh and focus his attention to the only remaining occupant of the Trans Am.

He didn’t like it. Normally Kobra would be right there with the others, braving the odds. Yet, here he is: Sitting in the car making funny faces at a toddler. Grace’s laughter can’t put a stopper on the ball of nerves that sit in his gut. Something just doesn’t feel right, but he does his best to press it into the farthest depths of his mind, choosing to instead concentrate on a heated game of peek-a-boo.

An hour passes without incident. Party and the others have nearly finished packing what they needed into the trunk of the Trans Am. They’ve gone back in for one last haul when everything goes to shit.

Kobra has relaxed enough to recline the passenger seat so that Grace can nap comfortably on his chest, tuckered out from too much fun. The Killjoys have found that Grace falls asleep faster to singing. Kobra, however, doesn’t fancy himself a singer. Instead he thinks aloud, trying to make his voice as soft and soothing as possible. “You know one day, we’re all going to be a bunch of old dudes. When I’m thirty, you’ll be around my age…So maybe not _that_ old. But hopefully the world will have changed again by then.” He pauses. The anxiety swirls. Would they still be alive to see a world that wasn’t enslaved by BL/Ind? He couldn’t say. Kobra clears his throat and starts up again. His voice is a fragile whisper, “Doesn’t matter though. We’ll protect you know matter what.” His hand rubs absentmindedly in small circles against the toddlers back. “No matter what.” He seals the promise by pressing a small kiss into Grace’s soft brown curls.

Kobra continues to speak and Grace is all but asleep when he hears it: the whine of an engine tearing through the coarse desert terrain. Leaning up to look into the rearview mirror, Kobra can see the blindingly white standard issue BL/I vehicles. Exterminators. “Fuck.” Is all he can think to say.

Kobra has two options. He could:

A)   Follow the plan.

Or

B) Fuck the plan.

Neither were looking too appealing at the moment. The first plan could get his brother and friends killed. The second plan could get them all killed.

He doesn’t have time choose. The hiss of plasma flies through the air. The Draculoids are piling out of their cars and charging into the warehouse. Another five Drac-unit is headed straight for the Trans Am.

A string of profanities (along with the occasional hysterical, “What could possibly go wrong?!”) fly from Kobra’s mouth almost as quickly as the lasers. He grabs ahold of Grace and climbs into the driver seat. Keys in the ignition, the Trans Am roars to life. Kobra tucks a crying Grace securely between his legs, not having time to strap her into the car seat. He throws motor into gear and lets the wheels tear under them, throwing up a cloud cover of sand in their wake. He guns it to the warehouse. Kobra could care less if this wasn’t a part of the plan (the same one he so brilliantly thought up), he isn’t going to abandon his brothers.

The Trans Am slides to a jarring halt in front of the warehouse entrance as it flattens three most unfortunate Dracs that stood in Kobra’s way. With Grace in one arm, and gun in the other, Kobra charges into what may very well be impending doom.


	3. Young Blood

Fun Ghoul can’t find his gun. He’s dancing around in the crossfire, reduced to throwing whatever spare metal he can find at Dracs. In reality, he could very easily just take a gun off of a Drac after the fight, but he’s not going to. He wants _his_ gun and no power in the Zones can stop him. Not even the Phoenix Witch herself. He’ll be dammed if he lets BL/I get their hands on it.  

It’s only the sound of a high pitch screaming that gains his attention. He drops the Drac that’s been trying its very best to dust him, and looks for the source of the crying. Ghoul’s eyes are immediately drawn to the shock of yellow hair that’s poking out from behind a machine across the warehouse. His stomach sinks. There’s only one person that could be and that person was supposed to stay in the car with the tiny human. Now that person is lying on the ground, not moving, and the tiny human is nowhere to be seen.

He’s too far away to be of any help. Ghoul ducks behind a machine as more Dracs encroach. He still doesn’t have a gun and he can feel the panic rising. All he can think about is that maybe they should have stayed home today. Ghoul jumps into the line of fire, tackling a Drac and wrestling for a gun. The fighting blurs together. The smell of burnt flesh and blood fill the warehouse.     

When the dust settles, Ghoul knows they’ve come out on top, but he doesn’t feel anything resembling victory. He stopped feeling victorious a long time ago. Now he just feels tired and scared because Grace isn’t crying anymore. Ghoul races to the other end of the warehouse.

Party is kneeled over an unconscious and heavily bleeding Kobra. Jet Star is sitting not too far off from them.  He’s awake but his eyes are hazy, and his hand is pressed to a bleeding shoulder. His other hand is cradling Grace in his lap. Ghoul wishes he could feel some relief but Kobra and Jet could very well still die.

Ghoul drives the Trans Am. The ride is silent and yet the fear is deafening. They haven’t experienced damages like this since the early years. He occasionally takes a glimpse of the back seat through the rearview mirror. Party has Kobra’s head resting in his lap. The last thing he said to Ghoul before they carried Kobra to the car was, “I thought we were going to be okay.”     

             

They say that when you experience trauma, everything seems to slow down. You lose track of time. A single instant can feel endless. Party Poison used to feel like that during the fire fights that occurred shortly after the conception of the Fabulous Killjoys. But, as time wore on, he became desensitized to the violence. The adrenaline no longer hindered his ability to move forward. The fear of death didn’t whisper to him as it did before. So when Party watched Kobra charge into the BL/Ind warehouse with Grace nestled in his arms, he doesn’t understand why the world slid to a screeching halt. He keeps replaying the moment and he still can’t make sense of it.

When Party comes to, he’s in the diner; pulled from reverie by the presence of Ghoul’s hands resting on his face. Grace is asleep in his arms. So swept in the memory, he’s forgotten she was even there. He tightens his grip around her ever so slightly. Something in his gut twists sharply at the thought of losing her. 

“Party?” Ghoul calls out to him, his face etched with an emotion that Party can’t seem to place at the moment. Party doesn’t respond. He’s not sure what he can say. He’s not sure how, but this is somehow all his fault.    

A moment passes and Ghoul does the only thing he think will help. He leans forward and touches his forehead to Party’s, a hand moving to sit comfortably at the base of Party’s skull. The touch is familiar and comforting. Party wishes he could dissolve into it. “Come on.” Ghoul’s voice is soft but firm. Party lets out a heavy sigh and nods. Ghoul immediately leans back and scoops Grace out of Party’s arms, taking one of Party’s hands in his own, and moves them toward the half of the diner that had been turned into triage.

Jet Star’s lying down in their normal booth. The left side of his shirt is torn to shreds and its place are bandages and tape. He carefully props himself up at the sound of two sets of feet approaching. “Hey.” He smiles.

Party stops in his tracks. He knows what hides behind the bandages, the damage that’s been done. Ghoul is quick to pick up on Party’s anxiety and gives his hand a quick squeeze.

“I’m fine, Poison.” Jet Star says in reply to the worried look that Party is giving him. “It’s just a scratch.”

“In that case,” Ghoul quickly shifts Grace in his arm, “Here, have a baby!” Ghoul quips, handing Grace over to the very injured Jet Star.

 Jet rolls his eyes but turns his attention to Grace. “I’m just fine. Aren’t I, Motorbaby? Still in one piece.” He says to the awakening child. “Besides, girls dig scars. BL/I can take my arm, but they can never touch my devilishly good looks. Can they?” Grace yawns. 

Party smiles at the interaction and Ghoul let’s out a small sigh of relief. “Come on.” He says again, guiding Party to the back room. “Kid, you’ve got a visitor.” Ghoul announces as they enter.

The room looks like it’s been hit by a tornado. Grace’s cradle is pushed up against the wall along with the other cots. Their personal effects have been haphazardly thrown in every which direction. And at the heart of the storm is Kobra Kid, asleep on the only untouched cot. He’s pale and his breath is shallow, but he’s alive and that’s all that really matters.  

“You stupid motherfucker.” Party mutters brokenly, tears in his eyes. Ghoul finally let’s go of Party’s hand. Party moves straight to Kobra’s side and collapse beside the cot.

“Cherri Cola came by and patched him up but he’s lost a lot of blood. We got him blood bags though so he should pull through. He’s going to be okay.” Ghoul says. He can tell that his words aren’t being heard so he leaves.   

The room is quiet once Ghoul leaves and some part of Party wishes that he’d asked Ghoul to stay. Party doesn’t know what to do. He feels helpless. Like a child. He forgets that it wasn’t very long ago that he was one.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me months to figure out how I wanted to write this chapter. And here we are, months later. I hoped you enjoyed it!


	4. Dried Paint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Kobra still injured, Ghoul tries to cope.

Party sat on the only available cot that was set up in the back room next to Kobra Kid. The Kid had been in and out of consciousness for a week now, so the others made it a point to always have someone nearby in case he woke up. But, waiting around for an injured person to either wake up or stop breathing (which had happened more than once already) was a lot like watching paint dry: it was boring. If Party weren’t so tightly strung from the last time Kobra’s heart had stopped, he’d be sketching the lifeless form of his brother. Instead he sat staring intently at Kobra’s chest rise and fall like waves pressing upon the shore.

Ghoul is worried about Party. It’s only natural. He’s a worrier, and with Kobra in the shape he’s in, gives him all the more reason to worry about Party.

“You should just go in there.” Jet Star said plainly.

It was Jet’s idea to come outside to get some air and watch the sun settle behind the mountains in the first place. He knew Ghoul would hover around the backroom until Party’s shift was up otherwise. But, he’s starting to regret his decision because Ghoul is now sulking and trying to fix a nonexistent problem with the Trans Am instead of watching the sunset.   

Jet notices the subtle changes in his family. He can see the way Ghoul looks at Party like he’s going to fall apart any moment. Truth be told, Jet is worried that Ghoul is right. They don’t know how they’ll function without the Kid. They’ve never really discussed it. Jet can only imagine that if Kobra were to die, it would kill Party. It terrifies him, and he knows that that feeling must be tripled for Ghoul.

“I don’t want to bother him.” Fun Ghoul says as he reaches for the tool box. Jet Star reaches out a foot and kicks the box just out of reach. Ghoul glares angrily at the box.

“Last time I checked he was just staring at the Kid sleeping. You won’t be bothering him, trust me.” Jet says, leaning over to pat Ghoul’s shoulder although this only earns him a look that isn’t quite convincing enough for Jet to care. Instead, Jet just rolls his eyes, “Just go.” He sighs and heads inside to check on Grace.

Ghoul looks down at his feet and kicks at the dirt a little, contemplating. Jet already knows he’s won though, because Ghoul isn’t far behind him.

Ghoul stands outside the backroom door, chewing at his lip. He wants to give Party space, but at the same time he wants nothing more than to stick by Party’s side until all of this blows over. Ghoul can’t help but think about the blank look that Party gets on his face that masks the despair and fear when he’s watching Kobra. Seeing Party like that hurts and in the end, it’s the hurt that send him through the door.

Fun Ghoul summons the courage, takes a deep breath, and opens the door. He tentatively pokes his head through the crack and glances around the room. Kobra’s still breathing and Party hasn’t even notices Ghoul’s entrance.

Ghoul frowns because Party is making that blank face. “Hey.” He chokes out, moving his legs like lead weights into the room, shutting the door softly behind him.

Party looks up at him and blinks, processing the presence of another human being. It takes a moment, but sure enough, a small smile forms on his lips and he says, “Hey” in return. Ghoul visibly relaxes at the sound of Party’s voice.

“Can I join you?” He asks. “Figured you could use the company since the Kid isn’t making out to be greatest conversationalist these days.” Party giggles quietly and nods, reaching a hand out for Ghoul to join him.

Ghoul moves forward and settles down beside Party. They shift on the cot until Ghoul’s head is resting comfortably on Party’s shoulder. Party eases into the touch and lets his arm wind around Ghoul’s shoulder, his head pressing into the soft of his hair.

They sit in quiet for a while, basking in each others warmth as the cold of the desert night settled into the diner.

“Dr. Death radioed us a little earlier.” Ghoul says softly, careful not to disrupt the calm of the room.

“Yea?” Party asks, shifting slightly to hear better.

“Yea,” Ghoul says as his fingers absentmindedly fiddle with a loose thread on Party’s t-shirt. “He said Show Pony and Cherri Cola will be by tomorrow to drop off more supplies and stuff.”

“Okay.” Party exhales the words and Ghoul can feel the tension in the other’s body suddenly release. “Good.” He says.

“Yea.” Ghoul whispers (although he’s not sure why), “Good.”

They stay like that, making meaningless small talk, until Jet enters the room to start his shift.

Ghoul tries not to notice the stupid grin that split wide across Jet’s face after he walked in on Ghoul and Party giggling like idiots. It’s basically Jet’s way of saying, “Told you so”. Although what precisely Jet had told him, Ghoul can’t really remember, but he doesn’t care. Party is laughing and smiling for the first time this week and that’s all that matters.

They spend the rest of the night watching Grace and talking. They’re use to talking all the time, but this somehow feels different. Neither of them say anything about this strange feeling of change. When it’s finally Ghoul’s turn to take the watch, Party follows him into the backroom and they settle back down onto the cot with some blankets.

As Party starts to doze off, head in Ghoul’s lap, he begins to mumble,“Thanks Fun.”

Ghoul frowns, confused, and asks, “For what?”

Party smiles sleepily and adjusts himself against, “For being here. For caring. Thank you.”

Ghoul tries to ignore the uncomfortable red heat that’s settling in his face and murmurs,“You don’t have to thank me.”

“I’m going to anyways.” Party says before falling asleep.

Ghoul smiles at that and the sound of Party’s deep breathing. He doesn’t think the red head has gotten a decent night’s sleep since Kobra was shot. Ghoul knows that he’ll be staying up for the rest of the night, because he’ll be damned if he’s going to let anyone disturb Party’s sleep.

Party dreams that night. It’s one of the reasons he’s been denying himself sleep for the past week. He doesn’t tell anyone what the dream is about. He knows what it means though and it terrifies him. Still, he says nothing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't posted in a while. Just haven't had any inspiration lately. But I hope you liked this chapter. Wasn't too sure about the ending but don't worry, more chapters should be coming soon. I really love writing Party/Ghoul. More Kobra, Jet, and Grace in the next chapter though, promise!


	5. Afternoon Delight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kobra's in for a hairy situation.

After two weeks of nearly sleeping all day, Kobra Kid wakes up with a strangely familiar weight on his chest. His eyelids are heavy, but he cracks one open to affirm that, yes, this is indeed the tiniest Killjoy on his chest. Grace stares at him with her big eyes, holding her own neck up to look at him. She gurgles and Kobra smiles.

“Good morning, Motorbaby.” He says, lifting an arm to stroke his hands through her growing mop of curly hair.

“Ooo.” Grace coos and then laughs excitedly.  

“Afternoon, Kid.” Jet says from somewhere else in the room. Kobra would normally crane his neck to see where he is but is still too tired at the moment. “Feeling like getting around today?”

“Is it really the afternoon already?” Kobra groans. It’s another day he’s practically slept away. He tries to sit up, and suddenly he can feel Jet’s arms hooking under his armpits to help. Grace slides into Kobra’s lap as Jet stuffs pillows behind him for support.

“Sure is. A little after one” Jet replies, sitting down beside the cot and handing Kobra a cup of water. Kobra accepts the water gratefully and waits for Jet to fill him in on what’s happened while he’s been sleeping.

Apparently Agent Cherri Cola had stopped by in the morning to check on Kobra.

“Seems like I only ever hear about Cherri Cola, never actually see the man. Maybe he’s not even real.” Kobra remarks offhandedly.

“You’re the one who got shot, not him. ” Jet replies with practiced ease.“Dude’s got shit to do.”

“Yea, maybe.” Kobra grumbles like a disgruntled child.

Jet can only roll his eyes and be empathetic. Kobra isn’t being an asshole, he just misses his friends. “I know sleeping all the time sucks, but you’re healing. That shit doesn’t happen overnight.” Jet assures.  

“Or many nights apparently.” Kobra sighs defeatedly.

Jet can’t help but laugh a little at that. “To be fair, you’re healing a lot faster than anyone had expected you to...or you know, at all.”

Kobra smirks and says, “What can I say? I’ve got shit to do.”

“Phoenix Witch must’ve gotten the memo.” Jet smiles. “C’mon,” He says as he unfolds his legs to stand, “Let’s get you up and about.” He picks Grace out of Kobra’s lap and puts her into the baby bouncer out in the main room.

When he gets back, Kobra has already pushed aside his blankets and has thrown his legs onto the ground, hands clamping around the edge of his cot. A light sheen of sweat is already covering his skin as he works up the strength to stand.

Jet is there, strictly as a crutch. Kobra hated having to rely on the others with tasks as simple as standing and walking around, he wouldn’t stand for Jet doing more than being his crutch. He was going to get up on his own terms. Jet vaguely wondered if stubbornness was a genetic trait.

But, Jet is elated when Kobra manages to get up on the first try this time around. Once he’s standing, he sways a bit and latches onto Jet’s shoulder for support. Jet is a fountain of praise as they walk slowly from the backroom and to the booth.

As soon as Kobra is sitting again, he’s hit with a wave of exhaustion, but he fights it. Instead he asks about his brother and other teammate to distract from his laboured breathing.

“Party and Fun went out on an errand for Doctor D. Nothing high profile, just a plain old supply run in Zone 6. Cherri said he scouted it out himself, and BL/I patrols are pretty thin in that area.” Jet rattled off. “At any rate, nothing to get excited about.”

Kobra hums and turns his attention to the tiny human that’s swaying around in the baby bouncer. It’s hypnotizing.

“Her hair’s getting kind of long, isn’t it?” Kobra observes, taking a sip of water from a cup that seemed to magically appear in front of him.

“It is,” Jet giggles as he watches Grace’s curls sprung up and down in time with her bouncing. “It’s pretty cute too.” He adds. When he turns back to Kobra, Jet makes a similar observation, “It looks less cute on you though.”

Kobra frowns. He has no idea what Jet is talking about. Although he’s guessing that’s due to the face that he hasn’t looked in a mirror in a good long time. He would only glance at himself in the bathroom sink because by the time he was done doing his buisness, he was already exhausted from the trip there and the potential return trip to the backroom. Grooming wasn’t exactly high on his list of priorities at the moment.

“Your hair’s gotten pretty long and gnarly looking. Actually everyone’s has. Myself included.” Jet elaborates. It’s more fact than opinion at this point, that the Fabulous Four look kind of gross. Their skin is covered in a thick coating of grease, sweat, and dirt. The same applied to their hair. It doesn’t help that a decent shower is hard to come by when water is such a scarce resource. At the very least, it’s apparent that they are all in need of desperate haircuts.

Jet pulls out a hand mirror from behind the bar and gives it to Kobra.

“Fuck.” Kobra says to his reflection. The sides of his head, normally cropped short, were a decent length longer than from what he remembered, and his prominent brown roots faded into his bleached hair that nearly reached down to his chin now. Even though he hadn’t seen sunlight in some time, his skin still had the illusion of health thanks to all the dirt.

“Yea,” Jet agreed. “I think it’s about time we cleaned up a bit. Can’t be healthy for the little one.”

Kobra hums in agreement, too tired to move his lips. The exhaustion is starting to take it’s toll, but still he fights it (much to Jet’s anguish).

“Hey, it’s about time for Gracie to take her nap. It helps if one of us sleeps with her. Want to volunteer?” Jet suggests, playing ignorance to Kobra’s obvious fatigue.                                

Kobra nods his assent to the nap. Jet leaves the booth and jogs to the backroom to grab the cot. He knows Kobra won’t make the trip back to the room. Jet sets it out beside the booth and let’s Kobra settle himself down into it.

With Kobra settled, Jet runs to get Grace and when he returns, Kobra’s just barely conscious.

“Here you go.” He says as he places Grace down onto Kobra’s chest, and covers them both with a light blanket.

Jet leaves the room for ten minutes, going to look through the things they filed as miscellaneous and tossed into a box in the garage. When he returns to the diner, both Grace and Kobra are out like a light and Jet has the electric hair clippers.

Three hours later, Kobra awakes to the sound and smell of Grace needing a change.

“Someone’s got a poopy diapey!” A familiar voice rings out across the diner.

Kobra can't place it at first but the distinctive sound of roller blades against the wooden floors jogs his memory.

“Show Pony?” Kobra almost laughs in disbelief. He hasn't seen the polka-dotted killjoy since before he was shot (although Show Pony has seen plenty of him).

“Hiya handsome!” Show Pony twirls, winking playfully at Kobra before leaning down and scooping up Grace. “And hello to you Motorbaby! Let’s get you freshened up.” They beam at the wailing infant. And as quickly as they came, Show Pony disappears into the bathroom with Grace.

Kobra manages to sit up and move himself back into the booth before Show Pony returns with Grace in a fresh diaper. Pony rolls up to Kobra, hands off Grace and presses a kiss to his cheek, then sits down on the opposite side of the booth.

“So what’s the 411 from dreamland good looking?” Pony teases good naturedly.

“Oh, not much really,”Kobra smirks, “I just got back from discussing future employment possibilities with the Phoenix Witch. Seems like times are rough on the other side. Think I’ll keep living until there are more job openings.” Show Pony’s grin falters for a split second. Kobra wonders if the joke is too early. He was probably dying the last time Pony was around, so he figures: yes, too early for Phoenix Witch jokes.

Kobra quickly changes the subject.“What brings you to our neck of the woods anyways?” He asks.

“Cherri baby caught wind that you were feeling neglected. So I came to reaffirm his love!” Show Pony says with a resolute fist-pump to punctuate the sentence. “Also, a little birdie by the name of Jet Star said you’d be awake when I came over. You’re not the only one feeling neglected!” They pout.

Kobra giggles because being around Show Pony had that effect. You just felt filled with bubbles of happiness when you’re around them. Although he wants to strangle Jet for telling Cherri what he said in confidence, he’s also really happy to see Show Pony.

“I’ll have to make it up to you.” Kobra says.

“I suppose you will!” Pony replies delightedly, pushing out the booth and rolling across the diner behind Kobra. “But, first!” They declare, a mischievous glint in their eye, “Say hello!”

Kobra turns in his seat, careful not to squish Grace, to look at whatever Pony is telling him to say hello to. Much to his surprise, in walks Agent Cherri Cola with his brother and teammates trailing not far behind.

“It’s good to see you awake.” Cherri beams.

Kobra is at a loss for words and can only think to say, “Uh, yea, you too.”

“I heard there was going to be a hair cutting party. Thought I should make an appearance.” Cherri says, scratching at his head and pointedly not making eye contact.

“People seem to be hearing a lot of things today.” Kobra glares at Jet Star.

Party ignores the general atmosphere and pushes past Cherri to plant a kiss on Kobra’s head and shuffle into the booth. Ghoul is right behind him, and Kobra makes it a point to pretend that Ghoul isn’t sitting precariously close to his brother after he sits down.

“Let’s get this party started!” Pony shouts, rolling across the room to the jukebox and booting up a Mad Gear and the Missile Kid song. The song fills in the gaps in the conversation and everyone relaxes.

Cherri Cola sits down next to Kobra and the hair cutting party begins.

Fun Ghoul is the only one who knows what they’re doing, so it only makes sense to let him cut everyone else’s hair. Jet gets in the chair first, threatening Ghoul that if he messes up, he’s going to wake up bald. Ghoul rolls his eyes, and starts chopping away.

Meanwhile, Party and Cherri take Kobra into the bathroom to wash and re-bleach his hair.

“Jet said we all need to take a bath.” Kobra murmurs as Cherri carefully pours water over his head and into the sink. “Said it would be healthier for Motorbaby. Keep her from getting sick.”

“When’s the last time you guys had a wash?” Cherri inquires, looking over at Party.

Party only shrugs. He really doesn’t know, the Fab Four learned to live with the stink a long time ago. He does know that Jet’s probably right. “I guess we can spare the water.” He says. They can’t afford for Grace to get sick. “Guess we’re washing you down Kid. We can bleach your hair tomorrow.”

“Um, you should probably take off the rest of your clothes then,” Cherri says. “Hey Party, can you--” But, Party is no longer there.   

At the mention of his brother getting potentially naked, Party is gone. Party is a strong believer in having boundaries with your siblings and this is a boundary. This of course leaves Cherri to help Kobra wash off by himself.

“Your brother’s a real samaritan.” Cherri chuckles as he grabs a washcloth and soap.

Kobra rolls his eyes as he slips off his sweatpants, “I’d do the same to him. We’d walk into fire for each other but we’d prefer to not know what the other looks like naked. Simple, really.”

Cherri’s used to seeing Kobra partially naked, although that’s what happens when you’re trying to keep someone else alive. At this point, Kobra’s nakedness doesn’t phase Cherri. The amount of dirt and grime that comes off of Kobra, however, does.

“I can’t believe you have that much crap on you.” Cherri says with undeniable disgust.

“Shut up.” Kobra says as he pats down his body with a towel, careful not to apply to much pressure to his scar.

Once Kobra’s all dried off, it’s like he’s a ghost. It doesn’t help that he’s lost weight and muscle tone, and nearly dying never really helps anything either.

Cherri helps him put his clothes back on and they both return to the main room.

Clumps of hair of all colors litter the floor. Fun Ghoul can be heard yelling something along the lines of, “There’s no way any of you fuckers are touching my hair” over the sound of the music blaring from the speakers in the wall while he cuts Party’s hair with the electric clippers. Show Pony is showing off to Grace’s delight and Jet Star appears to be looking at a map. Overall, the Diner is more lively than it’s been in months. It feels like a home instead of an old Diner that a bunch of teenage outlaws have been technically squatting in for years.

With everyone, bar Ghoul himself, squared away in the hair department, it’s finally Grace’s turn for a haircut, and suddenly everyone wants to have a say.

Cut it short, but not that short. What are you talking about? Well you’re full of shit. She doesn’t even need a haircut! The conversation ranges all over.

They finally settle on just a simple trim. Ghoul, however, won’t start until someone grabs the camera and snaps a picture. But, by the time Party locates the camera and returns, Grace is starting to fuss in her high chair.

Show Pony snatches up Grace’s favorite plushie and begins to dance, shaking the toy as if it too were dancing. But now she’s giggling and squirming and the situation isn’t any better.

“I’m ready to give up when you are.” Ghoul announces, because there’s no way he’s sticking a pair or scissors anywhere near Grace’s face when she can’t sit still. A collective groan escapes the room.

Then Kobra pipes up, “I have an idea.” Which is an odd statement coming from him since he usually doesn’t make plans, he just follows them (and granted the last idea he had ended with him being shot so his track record isn’t anything to go by). But, he doesn’t let that stop him. He moves the short distance from where he’s sitting in the booth over to Grace, and picks up the wiggling tot. Kobra knows that everyone has their eyes on him. He bets they’re half-expecting him to drop her due to fatigue, but he knows his limits (when he’s not ignoring them). Kobra then shuffles to the designated haircut chair and takes a seat.

“Kill the music.” He instructs breathily. Show Pony pouts but listens and turns off the jukebox, leaving the Diner in silence. “Party?” He asks, eyes on Grace.

“Yea, Kid?”

“Sing.” Kobra says, smiling a little because Grace is slobbering all over her own fingers that she’s stuffed in her mouth.

Party seems to understand what Kobra’s thinking now, and quickly starts singing a toned down version of a song that Kobra is pretty sure normally wouldn’t be appropriate for a small child. Regardless, Party makes it work and Grace instantly calms down, mesmerized by Party’s voice.

Ghoul smiles and gets to work. By the time he’s finished, Grace has been nearly lulled to sleep. Party stops singing, and squeezes his brother’s shoulder, “Nice thinking.”

Kobra doesn’t say anything and instead moves to put Grace back in her high chair.

“Wait!” Ghoul cries, stopping everyone in their tracks.

“What?” Jet asks, eyes darting around trying to perceive some hidden threat.

“I didn’t get to take an after-shot of Grace.” Ghoul says as if not getting his photo would be some sort of crime. Everyone rolls their eyes but don’t hold it against him.“Kobra sit back down.” Ghoul commands.

Kobra returns to his seat, although reluctantly because holding Grace has sapped a lot of his energy. “Hurry up.” He urges.

“Hold her up! Now, smile!” Ghoul snaps the photo, and quickly writes down the date and title, “Grace’s First Haircut”. “That’s one for the shoebox alright.” He grins happily and disappears into the backroom to store the photo.             

“How’d you get the night off? Don’t you usually DJ around now?” Kobra asks later that night.

The merriment has died down, but the feeling of warmth still remains. Grace has been put down for the night and sleeps soundly in the backroom. Ghoul is sweeping away the remains of fallen hair into a bag that Show Pony is holding open for him. Party sits at the bar and helpfully points out every small clump of hair that Ghoul’s missed (which draws sniggers from Show Pony and affectionate glares from Ghoul). Jet is conducting a supply check, while unconsciously touching his hair (which is cleaner and now falls just below his chin) every thirty seconds. Kobra and Cherri are sitting in a corner booth by the jukebox by themselves. It’s nearly Kobra’s bedtime as well, but once again, he fights the good fight to stay awake.

“Dr. Death said something about enjoying ourselves once in awhile. Gotta walk the walk to talk the talk, or some shit like that.” Cherri chuckles.

Kobra smiles and wishes the sweater he’s wearing wasn’t so damn warm and comfy, because it’s making him sleepy as hell and all he wants to do is stay up and talk to Cherri. Cherri is one of his best friends, and as much as he loves the inhabitants of the Diner, he’s been feeling lonely. So he fights every nerve in his brain telling him to sleep because he needs to memorize the way Cherri’s face looks like, that way when he listens to him on the radio Kobra can pretend Cherri’s really talking to him.   

Party watches the two out of the corner of his eye from his perch at the bar. He knows Cherri and Kobra are close, but he’s always wondered if there’s something more there. He watches the way Cherri and Kobra look at each other. When they talk it’s like they’re the only two people in the room, and it reminds Party of the way he talks to Ghoul. He wonders if Cherri makes Kobra feel safe because then he’d know for sure that there was something there (even if they weren’t aware of it).

Party is snapped out of his thoughts by the weight of Ghoul’s head on his shoulder. In the past week, he’s gotten used to the way Ghoul will press into him and remind him that the world is still turning without saying a word.

“You do realize he’s going to fall asleep in that booth unless we get him to bed soon right?” Ghoul says after a moment.

Party sighs. He wishes there were more time in the world. “Yea,” He agrees but doesn’t move. He turns his head so that he can see Ghoul’s face, smushed into his shoulder. “Let’s just...let’s just give them a few more minutes. Okay?”

Ghoul smiles. “Yea, okay.” He nods, and then wraps his arms around Party’s waist. Together they wait.

In the end, Cherri Cola carries a near-unconcious Kobra into the back room. Party has to jab Ghoul in the ribs repeatedly to get him to stop snickering and saying, “Awww they’re like newly weds! Cherri’s your brother-in law!”

When Cherri returns, he has a small but unmistakable smile on his face. “How long was he up today?” He inquires.

“Jet said he woke up around one but he went back to sleep pretty quickly because he walked around a bit.” Party recounted, “Then he was up when we got back. So I’d say five or six hours”

Cherri’s smile widens. “That’s good. That’s really good...”He trails off, clearly caught up in his own thoughts.

Ghoul shoots Party a knowing smirk before unlatching himself from the latter and walking off in the direction of the pantry.

Party clears his throat, dragging Cherri’s attention back to him. “So are you headed back to the station now?”

Cherri looks stumped by the question. “Uh...no...well yes, I have to drop off Show Pony and then I was going to head home. Uh, why?”

Party has never seen Cherri at a loss for words before. The man’s a DJ, he pulls words out of his ass for a living (not that he gets paid much for it), so this is a new experience for Party.

“You seem kind of out of it.” Party observes.

“Oh, no. I’m fine. Really.” Cherri sputters. "I mean...I don't know. I-"

“No, no. You should stay here for the night.” Party offers. He knows Kobra’s been missing the DJ so if there’s anything he can do to get his brother even a couple more minutes of face time with Cherri, he’ll do it. “Besides, Show Pony’s already knocked out in the backroom with Grace. It’s fine. Really. Stay.” His words come out more as orders, but Party knows that Cherri won’t put up much of a fight anyway.

“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to stay the night”

Party loves being right.   

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the longest chapter I've written for a fic. I hope you liked it. I'm kind of in love with nonbinary Show Pony which is why I used they/them pronouns. I originally didn't think I was going to pair Cherri and Kobra together....but it sort of just happened. What are your thoughts on the pairing? Did you like the chapter? Let me know in the comments!!!


	6. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The events of this chapter immeadietly follow the previous chapter.

The dream never begins the same way but Party knows it’s the same one because it always ends the same way: in a flash of light followed by pain. There's always so much pain. It never fails to pull Party from sleep in a frenzy of fear and panic.

Tonight, Party wakes reaching out for something that isn’t there. The room is quiet with the exception of Party’s strangled gasps for breath. He checks over his body frantically. When his brain finally makes the connection that he’s not in peril, it’s too late: He’s awake and coursing with adrenaline.

“Fuck.” Party whispers as he sits up and buries his face in his hands. He rubs his hands over his face and through his hair, wiping away the cold sweat that’s settled on his skin. The remnants of the dream play through his head.  

It’s only the feeling of Ghoul shifting beside him that draws Party back into the present. Fun Ghoul has the innate ability to hold people in the moment, even in his sleep it seems. The thought passes, “What would I do without him?” but Party doesn’t linger on it. The thought is like pressing his hand to a hot stove. Party doesn’t want to imagine a world without Fun, so he doesn’t. Instead, he gets up, careful not to jostle the sleeping Ghoul and leaves the very crowded backroom.

The hands of the clock in the main room read 4:36 a.m.

Party settles into a booth with a pencil and a sketchbook. Holding onto the pencil is all he can do to make his hands stop twitching.

There’s a knot in his chest. Party wants to scream. He wants to cry. He wants to burn himself alive if only it would make the feeling in his chest go away. The knot is the pain and the fear and the regret, and a part of him would give anything to make it all disappear.

Party opens his sketchbook to a fresh page and starts in. He’s not sure what he’s going to draw but as time passes, an image begins to take shape. It’s Fun Ghoul. He appears to be asleep, but as Party continues to draw, he realizes that to his horror, no, Ghoul isn’t asleep.

The rage hits him all at once. Party rips out the paper from his sketchbook and crumples it, throwing it across the diner. He throws his sketchbook in one direction and his pencil in another. He doesn’t care if he breaks something. He doesn’t care if he breaks himself. He’s feeling too much all at once and he just wants to make it stop.  _Why won't it stop?_

Party gets up from the booth to retrieve his sketchbook with the intent of destroying it, but his anger paves way for a flood of overwhelming sadness. He collapses on the diner floor, hugging himself around the middle, letting out silent agonizing screams. His body is racked with violent tremors as he attempts to hold in sobs. Dreams torment him as he lies on cold wood floor.

Party’s trying so hard to restrain himself, that he barely registers the sound of someone calling out to him.

“Party?” The voice repeats loud enough that Party acknowledges that he’s no longer alone.  It takes him a moment to gather the courage to look at whoever is saying his name, but once he does, Party is surprised to see Show Pony standing over him. He’s half tempted to curl back in on himself and pray that he a meteor hits the Earth and wipes out all life.

Party can only imagine how pathetic he looks right now. It’s embarrassing. But, it’s hard to be embarrassed when Show Pony looks at him with a soft knowing smile (and garbed in clothes that Party knows they weren’t wearing when he left the backroom).   

Party doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t have time to decide because Show Pony is suddenly settling down on the floor next to him without a word. They look Party in the eye and let out a sigh, reaching out a hand to gently brush away falling tears.

“The world’s so cruel to the kind-hearted.” Pony reaches out and bundles Party into them the best they can, holding him tightly. Party feels the knot in his chest loosen and he’s crying again, but this time it feels as if the pain has been ebbed away, if only a little. “Just let it out Party baby,” Pony says as they run a soothing hand through Party’s hair.

 

The two lie there quietly, and when Party finds some semblance of peace, Pony helps him into the booth.  

“Bad dreams?” Pony finally asks.

Party nods. “Nightmares.”

“Want to talk about it?”

Party’s eyes dart from where his hands are fidgeting in his lap to the sincerity of Pony’s face. He looks outside to see the night melding into the morning sky. Party leans back to let his head rest on the wall behind him. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh that releases some of the tension in his body. “Not yet.” He murmurs.

Pony doesn’t argue, but worry is written all over their face. It’s the worry that compels them to say, “You should visit the Doc. He knows a thing or two about nightmares and daydreams. He could help.”

The sun is beginning to peak over the mountain range. Party finally looks Pony in the eye. The corners of his lips quirk into a small smile. “You’re one of a kind Show Pony.”

“I don’t even have to try!” Pony grins, “It’s a shame you’ve only got eyes for a Ghoul.” Party chuckles at that, because it’s true. “Speaking of which, that boy is probably missing you. Go back to bed.”

Party waits for a moment, and then slides out of the booth. At Pony’s words, his body is heavy with sleep again.

Pony watches Party retreat into the backroom. Once he’s gone, Pony slips from the booth and descends upon the crumpled up piece of paper that’d been sitting just out of sight.

They open up the paper carefully, but they almost regret it as their eyes scan over the graphite depiction of Fun Ghoul.    

“Oh,” Show Pony whispers brokenly to the silence of the diner. They understand now, what Party’s nightmares are about. Pony can’t help the despair that now hangs heavy in their heart. “Just look at all that pain.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I scrapped like three other versions of this chapter and I like this one the best. Thanks for being patient with me, and thank you to the people who leave comments. It really helps knowing there are people who want to read and enjoy my work.  
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	7. Reap What You Sow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jet Star goes solo.

“Where are you going?” 

“Nowhere.”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You know this seems very out of character.”

“You know it isn’t.”

“Yea, maybe, but Motorbaby is going to worry about you. So, you might as well tell me what you’re up to rather than incur her tiny wrath later on.” Fun Ghoul concludes with all the authority of a small child that’s mildly upset about spilled milk. 

Jet Star rolls his eyes and retorts with, “She’s a baby. She assumes we cease to exist when we aren’t in her direct line of sight. I don’t think she’ll care Ghoul.”

“Well that’s incredibly dark of you.” Ghoul frowns, leaning up against the side of the Trans Am.

Jet pauses a moment as he pulls on his riding gloves. It’s early morning and he’s more than surprised that Ghoul is awake right now to question him. He figures that Grace woke up after he left the backroom and Ghoul got up to change her.

He wants to lie. He wants this expedition to be a secret, but Jet just can’t shake Ghoul’s stupid kicked puppy dog stare. “Is this how you get Party to tell you shit? You just look at him like he stole all your marbles?” Jet groans.

“Party can have all my marbles if he wants them,” Ghoul says with a suggestive waggle of his eyebrows.   

Jet tries not to think about what that explicitly means as he sticks the keys into the ignition of his bike.

Ghoul bites at his lip, arms coming up to cross over his chest. “Listen. You don’t have to tell me where you’re going. Just promise whatever you do, you’ll be safe, yeah?”

Jet chuckles at that. It’s a strange sort of role reversal. He’s always been the one to caution the others, to remind them not to press their luck. It’s almost a disheartening coming from Ghoul.

“Tommy has a package for me.” Jet divulges as he pulls his helmet on. “I’ll be back before anyone gets the stupid idea to come look for me.”

Jet can see the question on Ghoul’s face: What business does Jet have with Tommy Chow-Mein that he’s kept secret from the others? However, that’s not the question that comes out of Ghouls mouth. “You’ll be safe?” He asks quietly.

Jet smiles softly at the sincerity in the question. “Yeah, I’ll be safe.”

Ghoul looks at him hard for a moment before running his hands nervously through his hair. He claps a hand on Jet’s shoulder, holding tight. “You better fucking be.” He says, voice tight.

Jet nods, flipping down his visor. He turns the ignition, and the engine roars to life. Jet watches as Ghoul and the diner disappear in his trail of dust through the rearview.

 

Ghoul watches as Jet turns into a speck on the horizon before returning inside. He’s not entirely surprised to find Party up and feeding Grace a bottle, staring intently through the diner window pane.

“Where’s he going?” Party asks, eyes not moving from the window.

Ghoul settles himself on a barstool and shrugs in reply. “Hell if I know.”

Party frowns and turns to shoot Ghoul a skeptical look. Ghoul can only bite his lip and try not to spill the beans. Even though Jet didn’t ask him to keep his whereabouts a secret, Jet wasn’t exactly willing to reveal the details of his excursion to Ghoul either. It’s not like Jet to keep secrets, but perhaps this is more of a reason for Ghoul to keep his mouth shut.    

Ghoul can feel himself starting to cave under Party’s gaze when, as if on cue, Kobra shuffles in, mumbling something about waking up too damn early in the morning and pissing in someone’s coffee, completely unaware of the atmosphere. He ignores the other occupants of the room, who are blatantly staring at him, in favor of putting on a pot of coffee.

The sounds of Kobra sifting through the cabinets fills the silence. Once the coffee’s brewing, he sets his sights on his brother. He reaches out his arms from where he’s standing behind the bar and makes grabby hands. “Small human.” He demands.

Party Poison wordlessly complies, handing over Grace.

Kobra adjusts Grace until she’s comfortable in his arms before relaxing on a bar stool beside Ghoul. His eyes flicker between Party and Ghoul, only now registering that he’s interrupted something.

“It’s good to see you up.” Ghoul says happily, nudging Kobra lightly in the arm. Neither he nor Party had seen the progress that Kobra had made in the last couple of weeks. There always seemed like there was something to do and so their presence in the diner had been scarce. Seeing Kobra up on his own is more than a shock to the system for Party.

“Morning.” Kobra smiles at his gaping brother.

Party blinks and says nothing. Kobra isn’t comprehending his brother's shock. He looks over to Ghoul for an answer to Party’s odd behavior but finds none.

In an attempt to fill the awkward void that had entered the room, Kobra asks innocently, “Where’s Jet?”

At the mention of their missing fourth member, Party remembers what he was up in arms about before Kobra interrupted. Ghoul groans. Kobra ignores them both in favor of pouring himself a cup of coffee.  

Met with more quiet, Kobra just assumes that they didn’t hear him. “Where’s Jet?” He asks again, looking up from his coffee. 

Ghoul bites at the inside of his cheek. He _really_ doesn’t want to say, but he knows Party won’t drop it. He’s going to have to explain Jet’s disappearance _eventually_ , but not yet.

Ghoul stands abruptly, the screech of his barstool against the floor startling everyone, and heads out of the diner and into the garage. Party and Kobra exchange a glance that communicated their shared thought of, “Ghoul’s acting fucking weird”.

Ghoul opens up the trunk of the Trans Am and pulls out their two-way radio transmitter. He hauls the antiquated piece of tech over to a table. Ghoul is starting to worry that Jet _won’t_ get back before someone gets the stupid idea to go after him. There’s only one way to be sure Jet hasn’t given them a reason to high tail it to wherever he is: Dr. Death Defying.

Party and Kobra enter the garage just as Ghoul manages to patch himself into Dr. D’s station.  

The radio crackles and out comes, “Fun Ghoul! How’s it hanging baby?”

“Show Pony?”

“The one, the only!” Not even the static of the transmitter or the early hour can restrain the cheer in Show Pony’s voice.

“Pony, Jet’s gone AWOL and we were looking for Doctor D,” Ghoul avoids looking at Party.

“Sure thing, sweet thing! Let me get the good Doctor!” Show Pony’s end goes quiet.

Party shifts anxiously. If Kobra’s nervous, he hides it by paying attention to keeping a squirmy Grace inside her blanket cocoon. Ghoul holds tight onto the receiver.

When the radio crackles back to life, everyone holds their breaths. “Well if it isn’t my fave four minus one. How can I help?”

Ghoul clears his throat, “Uh, Jet’s gone solo and we were hoping you could give us a check-up.”

There’s a pause and then, “Zones are quiet boys. Nothing for me to report. But, keep your ears glued to the boom box, I’ll let you know when it’s time to worry.”

“Thanks Doc.” Ghoul sighs. He was hoping for something a little more concrete, but he’ll take what he can get. He looks over to Party, who appears a little more at ease. “Party? He’ll be okay.” He says in what he hopes is a reassuring voice.

Party doesn’t say anything. Kobra gets up from where he’s sitting in the Trans Am and says, “If he gets himself ghosted, I’ll kill him.” He promptly exits the garage. Party sighs and announces that he needs coffee to deal with this, following his brother out.

Ghoul stays by the radio and waits.  

                               

The roads are quiet this early in the morning. This is the first time in ages that Jet’s gone anywhere alone. He finds it a little unnerving.

It’s an unsaid truth that Jet Star takes care of the Fab Four. Their friends like to joke that he’s their mom. He doesn’t mind it because in a way, it’s true. Jet is the one to take stock of their supplies. He stops Ghoul from making bombs inside the diner. He makes Party sleep and reminds Kobra to eat. He’s so used to having to worry about someone else that only having himself is a strange sensation. Then again, this whole excursion is about taking care of himself for once.

Kobra being shot had taken its toll on all of them, but Jet was the only one there for it all. He was the one who performed CPR when Kobra’s heart stopped and Jet was the one who sat on top of him when Kobra tried to start doing things on his own too soon.

Jet didn’t consider taking care of his brother’s a burden. He loves them. But, now it was time for him show himself some love. This is why Jet placed a special secret order with Tommy Chow-Mein two weeks ago when Kobra started showing notable progress. He owed it to himself (although he has to keep convincing himself of it).

The Joshua trees pass by him in a blur. Jet watches the sun rise in his peripherals. There’s more activity the farther he goes into the Zones. He even passes by a couple of cars on his way into Zone 5.

He’s getting close to Tommy’s shack and that fills Jet with excitement. He can’t wait to share his secret with the others, but for now it’s just for him. It’s his excitement, his secret, all his.

Jet pulls up to Tommy’s shack without incident. Tommy is there waiting for him outside on a cheap fold out chair.

“By Destroya, is that Jet Star I see?” Tommy pulls off his sunglasses and leans forward in his chair, squinting at the killjoy.

Jet removes his helmet, and gives Tommy a small wave. “Hey Tommy, got my package?” He asks right off the bat.

Tommy sits back in his chair, unimpressed. “No pleasantries?”

Jet rolls his eyes and sticks out his hand to shake. “I’ve got places to be, people to see. You know how it is Chow-Mein.”

Tommy smirks and nods his head, he takes Jet’s hand in a firm grip. “That I do, Jet Star. That I do.” He stands and picks up his chair, dragging it back inside, motioning for Jet to follow. “You are not an easy man to buy for Star.” He sets the chair against the wall and goes into his office. “BL/Ind destroyed most of this shit in the early years. Everything’s gotta be chrome and shiny nowadays, you know?” He smooths a hand through his oily black hair as he flips through a ring of keys.

The sound of a radio floats in from the front desk. Jet stares at the miscellaneous droid parts and old tech that lines Tommy’s walls. He occasionally nods in reply to whatever Tommy’s saying, but he doesn’t really care. He wants to get back to Zone 6 before the sun gets too high in the sky.

“Can you believe that guy? Thought he could rip me off! Me! Tommy fuckin’ Chow-Mein!” Tommy opens a safe and finally produces what Jet came for. “Here you go.”

Jet takes the package and inspects the contents. “Tommy, you’ve done it again.” He smiles satisfactorily.

“You ask, I deliver.” Tommy says proudly. “Now, uh, as for compensation…”

“Like we discussed. I’ll do your zone running for a week. No questions asked.”

“I’m glad we’re still in agreement then.” Tommy’s smile makes Jet Star a little uncomfortable, but he doesn’t show it. Jet Star knows that Tommy isn’t one to be trifled with when it comes to business.        

 Tommy shows Jet out.

“You’re fast Star, but watch your back out there.” Tommy says as Jet presses back on his kickstand.

 “Keep it ugly, Chow-Mein.” Jet says in reply, and sets off.

 

Jet Star likes to read. He’ll read anything really. From Murder magazines to illegally procured pre-Analog War texts. He’s able to pull miscellaneous facts out of his ass just to mess with whoever he’s talking with. So when he suddenly finds himself in the precarious situation that involves a random patrol of Draculoids descending upon him, he can’t help but remember an old text that said: if something can go wrong, it will. Murphy’s Law, he recalls. This factoid helps absolutely nothing.

Now would be a good time to panic. A less experienced killjoy would definitely panic. Jet Star is not going to panic. It’s only one patrol. Five dracs to one Jet Star. Okay, so, maybe the odds are definitely not in his favor. Still not panicking. Well, that’s a lie. He’s panicking a little. Even more so when a green flash of light zings passed his head, singeing the side of his helmet.

Jet swerves, going off road. The Dracs are closing in.

 

“Good morning early birds,” Dr. D’s voice booms and crackles through the radio, startling Ghoul from the relative silence he’s been sitting in. “Looks like BLI has decided to get frisky with random patrols in our humble Zones. A lone Jet Star has got some Dracs hot on his pretty little tail off of Route Guano--” Ghoul kills the radio. He’s heard enough.

Ghoul’s about to bust out of the garage to tell Party and Kobra, but they beat him to it. Party nearly takes Ghoul’s head off when they throw open the garage door.

Kobra has Grace in his arms as he climbs into the backseat of the Trans Am. Ghoul throws him a questioning look. Kobra pulls a face and says, “Grace refuses to be left out on the action.” Ghoul takes that to mean Party made Kobra swear on his life not to do anything stupid this time around.

Party does a quick once-over of their gun batteries and plasma before jumping into the Trans Am. Ghoul grabs the radio transmitter and gets into the passenger seat. They’re off to the rescue. They can only pray they won’t be too late.

 

Jet’s running out of options. It’s the danger of Zone running too early in the day. There’s no shadows to hide in. He’s managed to put some distance between himself and the Dracs, but as long as he’s in their sights, they’ll follow him. Jet has his gun but he’s already a terrible shot to begin with. This is just damned bad luck.

“A good ‘ol fashioned joust it is then” Jet mutters to himself, and swerves to face the oncoming car of Dracs. Jet fires from where he’s standing, aiming at the tires. A stationary target is easier than a moving one. If Jet’s going to die, he’s going to go out fighting. Somehow he manages to hit everything but the tires. He’s lucky that the Dracs are complete shit-shots as well, because Jet would be toast were it not for the green blasts passing around him harmlessly. But, the closer the get, the closer the blasts get to their mark. Lasers skim through Jet’s clothing and flesh.  

Jet’s about to give up hope when he sees a familiar vehicle barreling through the desert. Jet smiles. Someone called the cavalry.

An old van pulls up beside the car full of Dracs. Jet can see a certain pink helmeted blonde is at the helm. The van rams the car. There’s the grating sound of metal sliding against metal. Tires squeal and the Dracs skid and burnt rubber fills the air. They manage to correct themselves, but they’ve come to a halt.

The van veers off to the side, putting space between the two vehicles. The sliding door of the moving van rips open, and out pops a teenager in a blue jumpsuit wielding a rocket launcher. Jet is quick to understand what’s going on, and kicks his bike back into gear.

“Get ghosted, motherfuckers!” The teenager screams as they fire a rocket.

The Drac-mobile tries to reverse out of range but it’s still to close to the explosion. The whole vehicle is flipped onto its top, trapping all the occupants inside. Jet watches the aftermath in his rearview mirrors as he rides away. He can hear the whooping and hollering of the triumphant teenager as the speeds beside him.

The victorious two vehicles drive in unison until Jet’s bike starts making a dangerous rattling noise. They pull off the main road to take shelter in the shade of an abandoned building.

Jet dismounts his bike to approach his saviors and is suddenly finds his arms full of blue-jumpsuit and joy. Jet swings the smaller body around from the force of the hug. “How’d you get here so fast?” He asks through a laugh as he sets the teenager down.   

“Doctor D hit us up on the radio. Said your ass was grass. We were in 5 anyways on an errand, lucky for you.” The teenager grins.

“Dumb luck.” The blonde adds.

Jet smiles. He hasn’t seen these two in some time.

 

When Doctor Death Defying delivers the news of Jet’s rescue, Ghoul nearly starts screaming. “THAT MOTHERFUCKING ASSHOLE WENT AND SCARED US LIKE THAT. THAT’S THE LAST TIME I KEEP A FUCKING SECRET FOR ANYBODY. PROMISED TO BE SAFE BUT THAT FUCKER LIED. LIED STRAIGHT TO MY FACE.” He goes on for about a minute like this before slumping in his seat, sagging from the relief. 

Kobra, who has his hands clamped firmly over Grace’s ears to protect her from the profanity, is the one who asks how the rescue came about.

“I sent Hot Chimp and NewsAGoGo to scope out an area for a new station in 5. They were more than happy to bust some asses in the name of friendship.”

Party takes the receiver from Kobra, “Thanks Doc. We owe you one.” He says and then turns the Trans Am in the direction of home.

    

 “I haven’t seen you since…shit, since before Dr. D storked Grace. Five months ago, I think?” Jet scratches at his head in wonder. He’s sitting on the lip of the van while NewsAGoGo applies a salve to a couple of burns on his arms. “It’s been ages.”

“Well maybe you should visit!” NewsAGoGo says with an irritated pinch to Jet’s arm. Jet flinches away but chuckles good-naturedly.

“Maybe I will.” Jet agrees, ruffling NewsAGoGo’s short black hair. She swats his hand away and sticks out her tongue in defiance. Jet’s known her since she was about thirteen and fresh to the outer Zones. Even then she’d been sharp as a whip and rowdy as all hell. Jet’s glad to see that some things don’t change. “What are you five?” He jokes.

“Nearly seventeen now for your information!”

“ _Nearly_ my ass. You’re sixteen and a half.” Hot Chimp pipes up from where she’s been leaning against the van, spectating.

NewsAGoGo turns to her partner with a pointed glare. “Seventeen.”

Hot Chimp looks to Jet Star and deadpans, “Sixteen and a half.”

“SEVENTEEN.” NewsAGoGo shouts.

“Saying it louder won’t make it anymore true.” Hot Chimp teases, eliciting a growl from the teen.     

Jet’s trying his best not to keel over in laughter, but the look on NewsAGoGo’s face is priceless. Her entire face has contorted. One might assume she’d eaten something bitter. “Careful Newsie. Your face could get stuck like that.” He jests, poking at her furrowed brow.

“ _Your_ face is stuck like that!” NewsAGoGo pouts, and leans into the van to grab her utility belt. “I’m gonna go check on your stupid bike. Make sure it doesn’t detonate or something.” She says, pulling on a pair of goggles and slinking out of sight.

With Newsie gone, Jet asks, “Do you think she’s going to rig my bike to explode?”

Hot Chimp moves from where she’s standing and takes up the empty space beside Jet. “I definitely would not rule the possibility out.” She says thoughtfully, staring out at a lone Joshua tree.

“I should visit more, shouldn’t I?” Jet asks after a moment.

Chimp takes her time, moving her head to face Jet, slowly pulling sunglasses down the narrow bridge of her nose. It’s as if she just heard the stupidest question in the world. “Of course you should visit more.” She spits, and presses her sunglasses firmly back into place. “I was starting to think you got yourself dusted without any of us knowing, until I got the dispatch from Doctor D this morning.”

Jet tries not to grimace when he hears the resentment that seeps into Chimp’s voice. He can’t blame her for being bitter. Until Grace came along, the Fabulous Four were known Zone socialites. Now they were recluses who only seemed to see the sun when they were running the Zones.

Jet would never say he regrets having to step off the social scene to take care of Grace (nor would Party, Ghoul, or Kobra) but he would admit to shirking his duties as a friend. He apologizes. Chimp sighs and changes the subject. Jet knows this is her way of accepting his apology.

“Newsie is getting her own station now.” She says conversationally with a toss of her hair over her shoulder. “Death Defying thinks she’s ready to run the show.”

“No kidding.” Jet can’t believe NewsAGoGo has grown up so much. “Time fucking flies.”

“Tell me about it.” Chimp leans back into the van and rifles through some colorful paper. She comes back with a neon blue flier and hands it to Jet. “She even has a gig at a Mad Gear show. It’s gonna be hot. You should come.”

Jet creases the paper and sticks it in his pocket. “I’ll see you there.”

“You will.”

Hot Chimp and Jet Star settle into a comfortable quiet. They both enjoy the presence of the other and watch the sun rise higher into the sky together.

The sound of Jet’s bike purring pulls the two out of their bubble. “We’re good to go!” NewsAGoGo shouts.

Jet does a quick inspection of his bike for himself and finds that NewsAGoGo has done A+ work (He hadn’t really expected anything less). He invites his rescuers back to the Diner but they decline (albeit reluctantly).

“We still have to finish scouting out the shack we want to convert into a station and then I gotta get back to my place to broadcast those steamy afternoon tunes.” Hot Chimp says, hand holding onto the scruff of Newsie’s collar to stop her from trying to hop onto the back of Jet’s bike.

“But I wanna see the baby!” NewsAGoGo pouts, her arms crossed against her chest.

“Definitely sixteen.” Jet whispers.

“SEVENTEEN.” She screeches. Jet laughs. Chimp rolls her eyes affectionately and tugs Newsie toward the van.

 

When Jet arrives home, he knows he’s in for it. Ghoul tackles him on-sight. Kobra smiles and watches from the sidelines. Grace smiles and bounces from where she’s sitting in Kobra’s lap. Party makes a face at him that says they need to talk later, but that he’s happy to see him.

“So what was so important that you had to leave without telling us and almost get your ass fried by BLI for?” Kobra asks when they’ve all settled down into their booth inside the Diner.

Jet places the package on the table. It’s no larger than two fists but its worth is immeasurable. Everyone watches it with wide eyes. He slides it toward Party to open.

As Party peels open the packing, Jet wonders if he’s just imagining the light that emanates from inside the package and brightens Party’s face. (It’s his imagination.) Regardless, Party stares at the contents of the container in shock. Ghoul peers over Party’s shoulder to see what’s left the red head speechless.

Ghoul’s jaw drops at the sight. Inside the box are seeds. “Holy fuck. Are those real?”

“Tommy says they’re the real deal.” Jet assures.

Kobra smiles when the realization sinks in. “These seeds. They’re flowers. They're for Grace.”

“Who else?” Jet shrugs. “I think she’d like to see them bloom when she’s older.”

Party tries to think of the last time he saw a plant that wasn’t a weed or a Joshua tree. It’s been too long.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the addition of NewsAGoGo and Hot Chimp. You'll be hearing from them again in the near future.


	8. Small Miracles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No one knows words like Dr. Death Defying.

The Fabulous Four. Zone rats. Freelance anarchists. Drac killing extraordinaires. Heroes. Criminals. Saviors.

Words are powerful things. They can bring you to high heaven and they can slam you back down to Earth just as quick. There’s no one more aware of this than the Voice of the Zones himself. Dr. Death Defying is privy to all the words that are said about his boys. He hears it all and all of it makes his laugh and cringe in equal measure.

Death Defying never brings up what he hears from within the Zones and the boys never ask. They know who they are, and they don’t need anyone to tell them. They were strong willed and stubborn as hell, two traits that got the four into trouble as often as they got out of it. Death Defying has always admired that about them.

“Weeds.” Death Defying had once said aloud in the midst of a contemplative mood.

“What’s that?” Show Pony had asked, surprised at the sudden outburst.

“Our boys are weeds.” He clarified, “Gotta be a weed to make in this shark infested sand pit.”

Show Pony smiled thoughtfully and nodded. “We’ve got the prettiest weeds.”

The rest of the day Show Pony skated around yelling (and on quieter occasions, they aggressively whisper), “IF YOU’RE A WEED, I’M A WEED!”    

Still, the words used to describe the group of kids that are currently camped out in Death Defying’s spare room are strange. Specifically, the words are strange for Death Defying because he would never call them “saviors” or “anarchists”. He can _understand_ why people gave them such labels, but it’s still strange, because they are his boys. They are his goofy, peculiar, lovable boys. Always will be.

 

As the last song of the day reverberates in his spine, Dr. Death Defying signs off the airwaves.

His wheel-chair powers the short distance through the sand between his radio booth and his home.

Show Pony stirs on the couch as the rickety screen door squeals shut behind him. They wave from where they’re laying down. Grace is asleep on their chest. “Our boys conked out as soon as we got back,” Pony whispers sleepily, eyes drooping heavily. They’d all spent the majority of the day running equipment from Death Defying’s radio shack in Zone 6 to NewsAGoGo’s new shack in Zone 5. While it wasn’t a horribly long drive from point A to B, they had to take a different route every time to avoid drac patrols (and they weren’t always lucky). In short, it was a long day. “They went to sleep pretty early so I volunteered to watch the smallest, but I think I’m about to head off to the dreamland myself.”

Death Defying rolls over to the couch, praying that the whirring technology of his chair doesn’t wake Grace. Show Pony carefully maneuvers Grace into Death Defying’s waiting arms.

“It’s been a long day. I’m pooped.” They yawn and lay back down. “Night night baby cakes.” They mumble, already half-asleep.

Death Defying carefully leans over to place a familiar peck on Pony’s forehead. “See you in the AM sunshine.”

“See you on the other side, Death Defy.” Show Pony murmurs before falling completely and comfortably into unconsciousness.

 

Watching people sleep is creepy. Death Defying _knows_ it’s creepy but he’s still doing it. It’s the only time a person is completely unguarded and maybe that’s a part of what makes it creepy. However, Death Defying finds that watching his boys sleep for a while is therapeutic for him. It’s like he can feel the complete and utter exhaustion of the world wash away from them, just for a short respite. They’re never relaxed when they’re awake, because people who relax in the Zones usually wind up ghosted. It’s also the closest damned thing that Death Defying thinks he might find resembling a basket of puppies.

The room that Death Defying put the four up in isn’t exactly spacious but it’s a whole lot bigger than the backroom they have at the Diner. Death Defying has no doubts that they each probably started out sleeping on their own sides of the room, and yet they still manage to gravitate together in their sleep. Party Poison is using Fun Ghoul as a body pillow (unsurprisingly), his body draped around the latter’s torso. Fun Ghoul, asleep on his back, has one arm curled around Party and the other hangs at a funny angle by his side. Jet Star is sleeping off to the side of Party, his legs up by Party’s head (Death Defying hopes that Jet doesn’t kick in his sleep). Kobra Kid is the awkward sleeper of the group. Asleep on his stomach, his long limbs all take on odd angles. His right leg is haphazardly thrown over Ghoul and Party’s legs.

Death Defying wishes he could take a picture so that it would last longer. Eventually he remembers that he can. He rolls back into the front room where Show Pony is snoring softly, and finds Fun Ghoul’s bag thrown in a corner. He rifles through the various objects that the Ghoul has stored in the leather satchel until he finds what he’s looking for (this takes longer than one might think due to the fact that he has a baby occupying one of his arms). He takes the Polaroid camera out and rolls back to the spare room.

By the time he gets back, Kobra has rolled onto his back, one arm trapped under him. Death Defying smiles and then snaps the picture. The flash of the camera goes off, illuminating the room for a brief second before plunging them back into darkness. Death Defying curses, realizing that the flash might wake Grace up. Unfortunately it’s not the flash of the camera but the sudden grunted curse that startles Grace from sleep.

Before Death Defying can react to the crying child, Fun Ghoul is sitting up staring blearily over at the source of the sound, Party is partially sitting up, his arms winding tighter around Ghoul. Ghoul whispers something that Death Defying can’t hear to Party. Party nods slowly, eyes still closed and unlatches himself. Ghoul carefully untangles himself from Kobra and crosses the room.

“Hey there,” Ghoul whispers to Grace. Death Defying lets Ghoul scoop Grace up and watches on, mesmerized. “Uncle Death didn’t mean to wake you up. Go back to sleep grumpy pants.” Grace’s cries settle into soft coos. Ghoul rocks her gently. “That’s right. Back to sleep. Just like that. Beautiful.”

Death Defying had seen some miracles in his time, and he’s pretty sure he just watched one happen in real time. Fun Ghoul, loud-mouth raucous Fun Ghoul, just managed to coax a five-month-old back to sleep. It’s something Death Defying has never seen before and he has the vague inclination to purposely wake Grace back up so that he can watch it happen again (to make sure it wasn’t a fluke).

Ghoul bids him goodnight and lies back down on his makeshift bed of blankets, settling Grace on his chest. Party carefully repositions himself so that he’s not smothering Ghoul. He keeps his head tucked in Ghoul’s shoulder and a steady hand on Grace’s back, legs winding with Ghoul’s to make up for the lack of bodily contact. And just like that, they fall asleep as if nothing had happened, like this was a common occurence.

It takes a moment, but Death Defying realizes: this _is_ a common occurence for them.  

He smiles. His boys grew up without him even noticing. He can feel a knot in his stomach turn a little and pride swells in his chest.

These are his boys.

_His_ boys.

The Fabulous Four. Heroes. Criminals. Saviors.

Parents.     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been having writer's block. I wrote a chapter in March and it was just all wrong so I didn't post it. And then all of a sudden I was unblocked. I literally wrote this in two hours and I really hope you lie it. If you do, let me know in the comments. I thrive on feedback.


	9. Rainy Day

Rain falls from the sky in fat sizzling droplets that land on the scattered rooftops of the Zones. Inside the Diner, Party, Kobra, Ghoul, and Jet sit around the main room while Grace naps in the backroom. The four are quiet, allowing the dull thrum of the rain and lively tunes of the radio to immerse them in a small content bubble. 

“Looks like acid rain from AM to PM, KJs! If you wanna stay alive, stay inside, or risk getting French fried!” NewsAGoGo’s voice reports from over the radio. “Reporting to you live from Zone 5, this is NewsAGoGo. Next up, the sultry sounds of Slaughtermatic!”

Jet Star, who until this point had been immensely enjoying a book on gardening, looks up from where he’s seated in a corner booth to frown at the radio that’s sitting on the table two booths away where Kobra is seated. The bubble of contentment is burst.

“That’s a bit dangerous, don’t you think?” He says to no one in particular as the music starts up.

Kobra is the only one who notices that Jet’s said anything. He pauses what he’s doing to look up at Jet and ask, “What?” His hands are still poised over the glove he’s retrofitting, but his eyes are steadily fixed on Jet. Kobra’s wearing an old pair of glasses that have thick lenses and heavy frames. They make his eyes appear twice as large and Jet would laugh at the sight if he weren’t so worried.

Jet brings a nervous hand to his face, scratching an itch he doesn’t feel. “I’m just saying, it’s dangerous for Newsie to announce where she is on the waves.”

Kobra’s gaze returns to his work. “Maybe.” Kobra carefully examines the connection of wires on the glove. “I’m sure she’ll be just fine.” He adds as an afterthought.

“If there’s anything you should be worried about, it’s that the rain is going to eat through the roof and we’re all gonna get deep-fried in acid.” Ghoul says from across the Diner floor where he’s sat amongst an array of maps with an assortment of objects and Party.

“The rain is not going to eat the roof, we repaired it a month ago after the last acid storm.” Party mumbles around the pen in his mouth. While he’s more focused on the maps than the conversation at hand, Party is still the leader of the group and being the leader means reminding everyone that they aren’t going to be deep-fried due to roof negligence.

Ghoul rolls his eyes and snatches the pen out of Party’s mouth. “Party pooper.” Party doesn’t react to the childish taunt and instead picks up another pen to scribble something down on the notebook he has open.

Ghoul quickly returns his attention to someone he _can_ taunt. “Jet, it’s raining outside. Even if BL/I _has_ magically managed to pin point Newsie’s location, it’s not like they can send a patrol out from Bat City in this rain.” He assures. “They’d melt a perfectly good Drac mobile and we both know that’s _highly_ inefficient,” He says mockingly before returning to his attention to the maps. Party hands Ghoul a marker and a ruler, wordlessly directing him to mark two points on a map.

Jet mulls over what’s been said. He allows his friend’s words sink in. They’re right. Newsie will be just fine. He’s almost content with letting the issue go until there’s a lull in the music. Every single person drops what they’re doing to stare at the radio. Static fills the air. Dread begins to burn a hole in Jet’s stomach as the noiseless seconds tick by. And then: “Sorry about that cowboys! Seems to be a ghost in the six track, but I’m an amateur exorcist. So not to worry, we’re ghost free upstream.” Newsie’s voice crackles over the Diner before resolving into music.

Ghoul breathes a solemn, “Well, shit.”

Party shakes his head and runs a quick hand through his hair, as if to brush away the pent up anxiety. He says nothing.

Kobra’s remains staring at the radio, hands stagnant.

Jet doesn’t know what to say. He’s still trying to get his heart palpitations under control.  

“Jet, I think you’re infecting us with your worry warts.” Ghoul teases, trying to lighten the mood, but his voice trembles ever so slightly, betraying his own unease.

“If you’ve got an infection, they didn’t come from me, ya nasty.” Jet says easily, earning a giggle from Kobra and a quick smirk from Party. He scoots out of his booth and saunters over to where Party and Ghoul have sprawled out mass of writing paraphernalia on the floor. “How goes the scheming captain?” He asks, squatting down to get a better look at a heavily marked-up map.

Party leans back, capping a red marker. “I distinctly remember this being easier 5 months ago.”

“We didn’t have a baby five months ago,” Jet points out.

The statement elicits a grin from Party, who replies, “Oh yea.”

Jet fishes out the bright blue flyer that’s the cause for the extensive planning from the other papers. He glances over the details of the flyer, before briefly looking what he can see of Party’s plan so far. There are different routes to get to the same place drawn all over the maps in a variety of colors. Contingency plans are scrawled on scraps of notebook paper and pinned to other scraps of paper. It’s an elaborate mess that Jet is sure only Party can decipher.

When it comes to planning big trips, Jet and Party always switch off who gets to do the initial planning. Once the initial planning, along with all the contingency plans are drawn up, whoever didn’t do the initial planning gets to choose the best plans based on merit. However, this is the first time since Grace came along that they’re going on a trip. Jet can understand why Party is looking over every single possibility. Even he’s a little nervous to be the one who picks out which routes are the best, because what if he’s wrong? Jet tries not to think about that. Not yet. Instead he places the flyer down amongst the general chaos and checks his watch.

“It’s just too exposed,” Party mutters at the map, but Jet’s not listening. He’s staring intensely at his wrist.

“Hey Kobra, what time do you got?” Jet asks, tapping the face of the watch.

Kobra twists so that he can see the analog clock that hang on the wall above the bar. “Half past two. What’s up?”

Everyone’s pauses what they’re doing to look at Jet.

Jet frowns. “I put Grace down over an hour ago. She’s usually awake and fussing by now.”

Kobra is sliding out of his booth and heading into the backroom before Jet has time to finish his sentence. No one has time to follow him either because as quickly as he’s left, Kobra’s back with Grace in his arms and a delighted look on his face. He sets a blanket on the floor and places Grace on top of it.

“Watch this.” He instructs, the pure excitement seeping into his voice. Ghoul and Party crawl over to Kobra to get a closer look (although what they are looking for is entirely unknown). “C’mon Gracie. Show ‘em what you got.” Kobra prompts. “C’mon!” He cheers softly.

  A minutes pass by slowly, thick with anticipation. Then, with only the warning of a quick innocent smile from Grace, she begins to rock. She rocks from side to side until she’s lying on her stomach, hands clutching the blanket beneath her. She gurgles and squeals at her accomplishment. Kobra scoops her up to bounce her. “You did so good!” He congratulates. Grace coos and sticks a hand in her mouth.

“Oh fuck.” Jet groans. Kobra frowns. It’s not the reaction he was expecting.

“Oh fuck is right.” Ghoul stifles a nervous giggle. “She’s going to be a hurricane on all fours before we know it.”

“Curly haired hurricane. Yea.” Kobra confirms.

Party smirks, “She’ll have BL/I on their toes before she can walk.”

The rain pours harder and the wind threatens to topple all in its path. Still, the killjoys remain in the relative warmth and safety of their bubble. Party posts his maps up on the diner walls with Jet’s help. Kobra and Ghoul try to get Grace to roll over again with varying amounts of success.        

“She’s almost 6 months.” Jet says wistfully, moving around the room to seat himself on the ground by Kobra and Grace.   

“The celebration of her half-life is going to be one hell of party.” Ghoul adds as he gets up to eye the maps that have been displayed.

Kobra grins as Grace begins to rock herself again. “It’ll be one for the history books.”

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again. Needed to set some things up for future chapters. Get ready for a party next chapter ;)  
> Also, shameless self-promotion: I wrote a one-shot Mad Gear & Missile Kid fic called "Ghosts in Your Periphery". You should tooootally check it out.


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